Double Entendre
by Jessica North
Summary: Someone wants the revenge on the Horseman, and they will go to any means necessary to get it. Assassins, kidnappings, even some that make absolutely no sense, involving details about someone who has nothing to do with anything. But you never know who is really pulling the strings, and in a disheveled case like this, no one is safe. Not even the ones who feel completely in control.
1. Stir Crazy

At the age of twenty, one usually has a grasp on life, or so she believed. All her childhood friends were either living it up in college or barely living at all. But the girl did fit into the mold for her age. While most people were inside their homes, sound asleep or watching their favorite TV shows in the darkness, the girl was standing at the mouth of an alley in between a barber shop and some cutesy little shop called Shirley's. It wasn't a huge town, one could drive twenty minutes and be in the next town over, but it was tightly packed and similar to a miniature city.

The street itself was barren, streetlights illuminating the bumpy road and the stray bits of trash floating in the light breeze. Every once in a while, a lone car would zoom down the street, preceded by the bright lights showing it's way and giving warning to the girl so she could press herself up against the wall and stay out of sight.

It could be argued that had the girl possessed an ounce of common sense she wouldn't be out on the streets in the dead of night. It was a bit of a shifty neighborhood and there were psychotic people out there. But the girl knew she would be fine. After all, if she couldn't handle herself on the streets she wouldn't be waiting there in the first place. So there she waited, a dark hood pulled over her dark hair and both hands inside her pockets, ready to pounce at a moments notice.

The client had said two in the morning, and seventeen minutes had passed since then. Thirteen more and the girl would leave. She wasn't one to put up with tardiness, but this was a well paying client and she could use some cash. She checked her watch again and leaned against the wall. Eighteen. She hated waiting.

Three minutes later a black car pulled over and a well dressed man got out. He was joined by a few others, two large, protecter-seeming men that were a good foot and a half taller than her, an older man in a hat, and a young women. The girl pushed herself off the wall and faced them, the light causing her to look ominous and shady.

"You said alone," she said, removing one hand from her pocket. That could be seen as her lowering her guard but it was in fact the exact opposite, there was a knife hidden in her sleeve.

The well dressed man chuckled. "I said for you to come alone. _I_ made no promises."

The girl scowled and crossed her arms. "Then call off your hounds."

One of the larger men started towards her, but the other held him back. She did not flinch, and instead cocked her head to the side and uttered lazily: "They're rather feisty. What hole did you find them up?"

The man ran towards her again, his partner doing nothing to stop him. The girl didn't move until the man was right in front of her. At that moment she jumped in the arm and landed an expert kick to his chest, the knife slipping to her hand. The man stumbled back as the girl landed, holding out the knife as a threat. The man seemed ready to attack again but was stopped by the well dressed fellow.

"That's enough, Pierson," the man said. His buff bodyguard stepped back, after casting a venomous glance at the girl, who smirked in response.

"I'll say it once more," the girl said. "Call. Off. Your. Hounds."

The well dressed man and the man in the hat laughed once again, and it irritated the girl that her threats were being taken so lightly. She had just knocked back a large man and threatened him with a knife. They must have been armed.

"You win, young lady," the well dressed man said, putting up his hands in surrender. "Get back in the car boys. We can handle it from here."

"Them too," the girl said, pointing to the man in the hat and the women.

The well dressed man shook his head. "Not happening. This ah," he hesitated. "_Particular _problem concerns them as well. They stay. Don't worry, my dear, they are about as dangerous as I am."

The girl hesitated. "Fine."

"Thank you," the man in the hat said, his deep, careful voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What do you want?" the girl said.

The two men looked at each other. "We need your help with an issue. We need you to bring us a group of people who have destroyed our careers," said the well dressed man.

"If your careers have been destroyed, how do you intend on paying me?" the girl asked.

"I'm not broke, my dear," the well dressed man said with a laugh. "I'm very rich, even after those low-life thieves stole from me and publicly ridiculed me."

The girl thought for a moment. "Do you have the down payment?"

The well dressed man nodded. He handed a thick manilla folder to the girl, careful not to drop any of the papers. "That also contains the information on the targets."

The girl opened the folder and removed the money, quickly counting it. She looked up. "And I'm not killing them?"

"Just bring them to the location in the folder, and then walk away," the man in the hat said. "We'll take it from there."

The girl closed the folder, shifting her weight and biting the corner of her lip in thought. She turned to the well dressed man. "I'm not an idiot, Mr. Tressler. I know who they are, I know who you are. And it's going to be a lot harder to bring these specific people to you."

"We agreed on a price," Tressler said.

"I didn't know these were the targets," the girl said. "My rate just went up."

"Come on," the women said. "We don't need her."

"Oh, but I think you do," the girl said. "Good luck finding someone else willing to get these guys," she smiled. "Good luck finding someone else who can," she added in a boasting tone.

Tressler looked like he was trying to kill the girl with his gaze, but she held it for several moments until he looked away. "I'll up it ten thousand. Not a penny more."

"Twenty."

"No," Tressler snapped. "Ten thousand. Nothing more."

The girl shifted her weight and moved her jaw, contemplating her next move. "I could go to the feds you know. I'm sure they'd love this," she held up the folder. "Information. They probably pay better too."

Before she could do anything else Tressler and the women pulled out a gun, trained on the girl. She smiled coyly, and sighed. She was right, they were armed.

"I'm still pushing for twenty, Mr. Tressler," the girl said. "This isn't the first time I've been held at gunpoint."

"It could be the last," Tressler said, raising the gun.

The girl shrugged. "I can scream very loud, Tressler, and this place doesn't have allow population. I think a murder on your hands would be worse than public humiliation for your company. Twenty-five."

"Deal," the man in the hat said. Tressler shot him an angry look. "She's got a point, Mr. Tressler. Murder would look very bad on your record."

Tressler looked ready to shoot the girl, but he instead lowered his weapon and motioned for the women to do the same.

The girl smiled as she noticed the brutish men from before had exited the car and were standing at the ready. "Down boys!" she called with a laugh. The one who had attacked earlier, Pierson, smack a fist into his hand but they both retreated to the car.

"They don't seem to think you can fight your own battles, do they?" the girl said to Tressler.

"Well, he did hire them," the man in the hat responded. "It would make sense in their tiny brains that Tressler would need them for everything."

"So about the time frame?" Tressler began, his patience running out.

The girl tilted her head and held the folder in the crook of her arm. "I'll have them to you within two months."

"I'll drop it a hundred every day over," Tressler snapped.

"Three then," the girl smirked. "I like insurance. Although I hear yours is rubbish."

"You like to rub people the wrong way, don't you?" the man in the hat said as Tressler stepped forward to grab her. The man in the hat grabbed Tressler's elbow, stopping him as the girl let out a short laugh. "That's a dangerous pastime."

"Oh but it's _so_ enjoyable," the girl said with a mischievous smile. "And I always know when to run."

Tressler straightened out his suit and turned to face the girl head on. "Two months, a hundred down each day over. Or we can go elsewhere. Honestly I think Pierson may be adept enough for the job."

"Pierson?" the girl scoffed. "I knocked him out with a kick to the chest and a threat. Do you really think he can kidnap four of the most sought after magicians in the world?"

"Well you're not the only one who can," Tressler said. "I'm sure I could find someone else."

The girl let out an angry breath. Tressler had single handedly tipped the scales and put them in his favor. She wasn't the only person with this skill set, and she knew it. But she still had some leverage. Blake was knee-deep in something on the west coast, so even if they knew about him they couldn't get to him until he finished that. "Then I want ten thousand, right here, right now." she said, and stuck out her hand. "Cash. Deal?"

Tressler scowled, but stuck out his hand as well. "You have yourself a deal, young lady," he said, and they shook. Tressler then reached into his walled and pulled out a wad of bills, handing them to the girl. "I will get you the rest later. This is all I have right now."

The girl smiled. "That will do," she said. She turned to the man in the hat and the women. The women had been so quiet the girl had forgotten she was there. "And what do I call you?"

"Mr. Bradley and Hermia," the man in the hat said, motioning to himself and the women. "And you?"

"Isla," the girl said simply.

"Isla," said Bradley. "Well Miss. Isla, I hope you're up to the job."

"I am," Isla said with a smile. "See you in two months."

Life after a rush can be depressing. Sad, sluggish, difficult to bear. Stressful even. Will life ever be like this again? Will it ever be as great, as fun, as worthwhile as it once was? Or was that it?

It's no easier when you have to live in a two bedroom apartment with three other people. Henley had claimed one of the rooms, leaving the other three to scramble for the last room. The honor went to Daniel, with Merritt on a cot in the room. Jack however was stuck with the couch in the main room , the result of a failed game of rock, paper, scissors.

Everyday in the apartment was the same, a boring cycle of waking up, falling asleep, the little that happened in between. The four had trouble telling each day apart, and no one ever knew what day it was. They couldn't go out much, and when they did it had to be in a heavy disguise. The Eye funded them, so it wasn't like they had to work but besides grocery shopping and the occasional trips to miscellaneous store, there wasn't much to do besides watch television and read.

On this particular Saturday, Jack was lying on the couch flipping aimlessly through channels, Merritt was sitting in the nearby chair with his feet up on the ottoman and his nose in a book, and Daniel was in the kitchen opening and closing the full cabinets, unsure on what to eat.

The door creaked open and Henley entered, a big leather purse on her shoulder and a two large shopping bags in each hand. She hobbled over the the counter and dropped the bags on it, pulling off a pair of sunglasses, a hat, and a short brown wig. After pulling her hair from the wig cap she turned to face the two boys in the living room, who had turned to face her.

"How much stuff do you need?" Merritt asked.

"Calm down Merritt," Henley said. "There was a sale, and Jack said he needed socks, I got you a few new hats because the ones you have right now are a mess, and there was a bunch of t-shirts for like five bucks each I just could not leave there."

Daniel walked over to the counter and looked in one of the bags. "There's about five dresses in here. What are you going to do with them?"

Henley looked in the bag and then gave Daniel a strange look. "Those are shirts. I told you there was a sale."

Daniel made a face and walked over to the couch, as Henley went through the bags and pulled out three fedoras and various colors and a huge pack of black socks. She tossed the hats to Merritt and the socks the Jack, who caught them and made an extremely confused face.

"I said I needed a few socks, Henley," Jack said. "This is like, fifty."

"Twenty pairs, can't you read?" Henley snapped. Jack dropped the socks and put his hands up in defense as Daniel rushed over and put his hands on Henley's shoulders.

"Calm down," Daniel said. "It's a hyperbole, it's not a big deal, there's no reason to-"

"Danny!" Henley said, moving her arms to push off Daniel's hands. "Enough! I get it! I'm just going a little stir crazy here and all I can seem to do is buy things I'll never wear."

"I understand, but we're kind of wanted by the FBI, Interpol, and basically every other crime-fighting group out there," Daniel said. "Dylan said we can't get arrested."

Suddenly, Merritt sprang up from the couch, a finger in the air. "Got it! What if we ask old Dylan if we can have a night on the town."

"Pretty sure he's younger than you," Jack began.

"I seriously doubt that Dylan would ever-" Daniel began.

"No, no that's a great idea!" Henley said. "I mean, if we're all in disguise, we don't talk to to many people and we choose a more low-key area, I'm sure Dylan will let us go."

Daniel let out a sigh of defeat and made his way over to the phone. "Alright," he said. "I'll call him."


	2. Plan Number One

Dylan said yes.

It had to be a dark place, at night, and they had to watch the alcohol but Dylan said yes. They could go out for something besides quick trips to the store.

No one was more excited than Henley. All the clothes she'd bought, the nice dresses and blouses and shoes she'd carried home after buying them out of boredom. They finally had a purpose.

So there the redhead sat, on her bed with almost a dozen dresses strewn about her, trying hard to make a decision. The red one would go nice with the wig, the green one with her hair, and the black one with both. The short, purple one was more comfortable than the rest, but the long, black one was much nicer. She didn't really have shoes for the peach one, but it was really appropriate.

Honestly, Henley wasn't much of a dress girl. a skirt or pants might be a better choice, but that would mean a missed opportunity to wear one of the dresses she'd bought for no good reason. And opportunities were hard to come by.

Meanwhile, the other three were putting on their best and cleanest shirts. Daniel ran a comb through his hair and Merritt was even wearing cologne. And even though it took Jack a while to decide what to wear, even he was finished getting ready a half hour before Henley.

Finally, after an old rerun episode of some show that only Merritt had seen before and three cups of coffee, Henley emerged from her room in her best gloves, jacket, and jeans. The dresses still had tags on them, and it gave her something to do tomorrow.

"What are you all waiting for?" she asked, grabbing her purse. "Let's go! Hurry it up!"

Merritt chuckled under his breath and Jack clicked his tongue in a disapproving and offended manner. Daniel, however, would not have it.

"Maybe if you'd spend less time getting ready we wouldn't have to wait as long," he said. "Maybe you should start earlier or-"

"Calm down Danny," Henley said with a smile. "Let's go."

Daniel opened his mouth to say more, but common sense got the better of him as he followed Henley out the door.

Dylan had arranged for a car to come pick them up and take them to a semi-popular club nearby. It was cheap, dark, and almost free to get into.

The four magicians piled into the car, a black, popular brand car, and were silent for the majority of the drive. Dylan's rules echoed in their head. No personal details, no show voices, no getting drunk and most certainly no magic. They didn't need the feds coming for them now.

Despite the strict conditions, as soon as they entered the club the atmosphere took over and they all felt loose and calm and most of all _free_. And that was something they hadn't felt in a long time.

"I know that Dylan said to watch the alcohol, but you guys could carry me home, right?" Merritt asked as they approached the bar.

Henley snickered. "Nice try, Merritt. At least try to stay _mostly _sober."

"No promises," Merritt said, trying to get the bartenders attention.

Meanwhile, Jack and Daniel had moved towards the more populated area of the club. Sweaty young adults danced around, a few spilling the liquid out of their glasses and onto the floor. They both tried to "get into the music", Jack succeeding pretty well at bobbing his head and smiling at girls. Daniel on the other hand was a mess.

"Did you go to clubs often?" Jack asked. "You know, before?"

Daniel shook his head. "Besides a few gigs, nothing much. Once or twice when I was a bit younger, but I didn't really like the atmosphere," he grimaced. "It's so loud. You?"

Jack chuckled. "I just turned twenty-one," he said. "Like, right after we got the cards. Remember? During that year of prep or whatever?"

"Right," Daniel said. He looked over Jack's shoulder at Henley, who was sitting with Merritt and laughing. Jack caught his eye and motioned over his shoulder.

"Go," he said. "I think I'll be okay."

Daniel gave his a questioning look but went over to Henley anyway. She looked up when she saw him and placed her drink on the table.

"Hey Danny," she said. "Having fun?"

"I hope this is your first, because people do crazy things when they're intoxicated," Daniel said, motioning to Henley's drink. He looked up and saw the disapproving look in her eyes, and then her continued. "Oh, yes, lot's of fun. Nothing's better than sweaty, drunk people and loud music."

"Yeah, it looks like Jack's having fun too," Merritt said, motioning with his chin, taking a sip of his drink. Daniel and Henley turned to see the young magician surrounded by girls, flipping their hair and putting their arms around him.

"I've been gone for a minute," Daniel laughed

"He's got pretty good game for a dead guy," Merritt continued

Daniel chuckled and Henley let out a short laugh as Jack caught their eyes and shrugged. Henley gave him some slow claps of mock praise and he broke away from the pack, walking over to them with some quick excuse.

As he approached the other three looked like they were about to burst into laughter or explode. "What? he said with a laugh. "I can't help it. Daniel's the one who left me there, defenseless."

"You said I could go!" Daniel cried.

"I didn't realize I was going to need your skills at repelling women," Jack countered.

Henley and Merritt laughed. "Oh that's very funny," Daniel said. "Ha, ha, ha. How do we know they weren't asking for me?"

"I don't know man," Jack said with a sly smile. "None of them seemed like they'd just escaped from an insane aslyum."

Laughter exploded from the table and for the first time in months they felt like life was good again. All except Atlas. Daniel needed some space, some air, or he was going to explode.

"I'll be right back," he muttered, heading for the door. He could hear sounds of laughter behind him as he pushed through the crowd.

Fresh air slammed him in the face as he pushed open the door. It was mostly deserted outside, a few cars coming by and the lone bouncer outside. Daniel walked to the front of the building and leaned against the wall. He knew this was dangerous but he didn't care. He'd been pent up long enough.

Suddenly, a noise. Heavy, labored breathing. Daniel walked past the next building to the alley there, following it. At first he saw nothing, but after using the light from his phone he could see a figure, small and feminine, crouched in the corner. A black hood covered her head and black sneakers covered her feet. But what shocked Daniel the most was that her hands we covering her midsection, as it trying to stop the flow of blood.

"Hey, are you okay?" he cried, rushing to the girl's side. She did not respond but slowly moved her hands from her abdomen to reveal a red wound. And it wasn't very small.

"I need to get you to a hospital," he said, reaching to dial the number. The girl's hand shot forwards, grabbing his wrist.

"Please, no, hospital," she said in between breaths. Daniel pulled his hand away but hesitated. He could tell she was running. He could see it in her eyes. He knew how she felt.

But still, he couldn't bring her back to the apartment. Could he? What if she died because he gave her to the authorities? Daniel raised the phone to his ear, but it wasn't to speak to 911.

"Dylan. This is an emergency, send the car to the alley to the right of the club. You come too. Quickly. And call Henley and the guys and tell them to come outside to the car," he said.

"What's going on? Are you guys okay?" Dylan asked.

"We're fine but you need to hurry," Daniel said, hoping the urgency in his tone was evident. "It's important."

"Be right there," Dylan said. Daniel hung up and turned to the girl. He needed to stop the blood.

Daniel took off his jacket and balled it up, giving it to the girl, Weakly, she pressed it against the wound and looked at him.

"No, cops?" she asked.

Daniel shook his head. "No cops. You're safe, for now. But we need to get you some medical help."

The girl groaned, then nodded weakly. "Good," the word slipped at the end and Daniel realized she was loosing consciousness.

"Hey, hey, hey," Daniel said. The girl's head dipped to the side and Daniel pushed it back with his hand. He then helped her sit up more, the girl wincing all the while. "Stay awake, okay? Stay awake."

The girl nodded again. "So. Much. Blood," she said, her words coming out spaced and her breathing shakeing. He needed to keep her talking.

"Stay with me," he said. What to say? "Um," he thought for a moment, but the girl's head began to droop again. Where was Dylan? "What's your name?" he said, as a knee-jerk reaction.

"Isla," the girl said. And then her world went dark.

* * *

Killing people, Isla discovered, was much easier than kidnapping them.

Yes, it was still a challenge, planning the escape, getting the timing right, sometimes getting _to _the target, and the whole _legality_ and _severity _of it, but at the end of the day it was a simple aim and shoot. Unless the client wanted it done more _creatively_.

Kidnapping on the other hand, was so messy. You had to transport an unwilling body, alive, to a location they most likely really don't want to go to. Multiples were even harder because one could run off before you grabbed them. Tranquilizers were nice, although risky, and chloroform was an option, but then you had to lug them around.

So Isla decided on the good, old fashioned "fake-and-point". Also know as pretending you're hurt and then holding the target at gunpoint.

The plan was simple, and Tressler-approved. Isla knew they were going to a club, and she knew Atlas was going to "need some air" or whatever. All she had to do was hide in the nearby alley (she'd discovered she had a sort of "thing" with alleys) and make a few noises to sound like a struggle.

Seeing as he's a human being (or so she thought), Atlas would rush over to see what's wrong and then be taken captive by gunpoint. Isla would then use him to lure the other three, and bing bang boom cash, much needed cash, would be coming her way.

She arrived at the alley right as night fell, hiding in the darkness. She saw the car pull up, and four adults enter the club from it. They were disguised, but that didn't fool Isla's watchful eye.

Soon, Atlas would exit the club. All she had to do was wait. And stay hidden.

"Hello Isla."

Isla gasped and turned around, a hand on her heart. It wasn't easy to surprise her. She must have been extremely focused on Atlas.

But upon seeing who it was she scowled as he smirked, as if surprising her were the equivalent to discovering Atlantis.

"Blake," she said shortly. "What are you doing here? I thought you were working that drug thing on the coast," a small smile crept across her mouth. "Did you get fired?"

"The boss got caught and I got the ransom money," Blake said, flashing his snarky smile once again. "The feds paid Barry Franks better."

Isla scoffed. Blake was the type to backstab his boss. "What a sucky nom de plume. He sounds like a real idiot. Hey," she pointed her finger, as if realizing something. "Wasn't that your dad's name?'

They traded faces, Blake scowling and Isla smirking. "It _is _not his name," said Blake. "He's not dead."

"No but to him, you are," Isla countered with a fake little laugh. "You just couldn't pass law school, could you?"

Blake curled his hands into fists, but then released after a deep breath. His self-control was admirable, but Isla could crack him. She always did.

"You should probably shut up Isla," Blake said. "And back off this case."

"No way," Isla said. "He came to me, fair and square. If anyone should back off it's you, seeing as we no longer work together."

"Yeah, well, Tressler is one of the highest paying clients I've ever seen so I suggest you walk away and let me handle this," Blake said.

"Or what?" Isla taunted.

Blake's eyes narrowed as he spoke. "Or things will get ugly."

"And if I don't?" Isla asked.

Blake's mouth widened into the sickest smile Isla had ever seen. When he lunged forward with the knife she was ready. She dove to the side and rolled, getting back onto her feet quickly.

Blake did not have a gun, this she knew for a fact, and she did. As far as Isla could tell, the odds were in her favor.

"Is that the best you can do?" Isla said, twirling her gun around her finger before aiming it at Blake's head. Blake put his hands up, dropping the knife, but a moment later he ducked down and lunged towards her feet.

Isla didn't dare take a shot in the dark, it could attract unwanted attention, and was helpless as Blake knocked her feet out from under her. Isla fell on her back, hard, wincing in pain but holding tight to the gun.

Isla rolled over and crouched, looking to aim at Blake. But Blake was nowhere to be found. Isla's heart rate sped up as she looked around, trying to find her black-haired ex-partner but nothing. Nothing until she felt the cool blade against her throat.

"Drop, the gun," Blake said. Isla dropped it and Blake kicked it away from behind her. Isla took deep, steady breaths, trying to calm herself. Blake wouldn't kill her. He wouldn't.

"Good." Isla could feel his hot breath on her neck. "Now, this is a warning. Back. Off. This. Case."

Isla let out a short laugh. "Not likely."

Before Blake could process what she had said, Isla jabbed her elbow into his side and pulled her back back to avoid the blade. She ducked down and round kicked the knife from his hand, followed but a spin jump kick to his face.

Blake was angry now so he swung blindly. Isla blocked the first two and returned a punch of her own to his nose, but his third punch faked her out and a kick hit her square in the chest, knocking the wind out of her.

While Isla stumbled back, trying to catch her breath, Blake found the knife and pushed her against the wall. She sunk down, the loss of breath combined with the force of the was leaving her defenseless.

"Likely," Blake said, and without a moments hesitation he plunged the knife into her stomach, at a practiced angle so that it was only fatal if she didn't treat it. Which meant going to a hospital.

Isla gasped in pain as it blinded her. Blake slipped away, probably to form a plan of his own to get the client. Not that Isla could care. She clutched at her stomach, gasping for air and trying to steady her self against the wall. What to do? She could barely breath, much less scream, and a hospital wasn't an option.

She heard footsteps then. Atlas. He appeared at the entrance and shined his phone light on her, like she had expected, only this time she was mostly unarmed and actually hurt. How ironic that he show up right after Blake left.

"Hey, are you okay?" Atlas cried, rushing to her side. All Isla could do was move her hands slightly to reveal the wound

"I need to get you to a hospital," he said, reaching for his phone. No, no hospital! Isla summoned all of her strength to grab his wrist and speak.

"Please, no, hospital," she said in between heavy breaths. Speaking was a challenge.

She saw something in Atlas's eyes, a sort of understanding she'd never seen before, nor did she expect to see. He raised his phone to his ear and she prayed that it was not to speak to 911.

She somehow knew it wasn't. "Dylan," Atlas said. She knew who Dylan was, and he wasn't 911. "This is an emergency, send the car to the alley to the right of the club. You come too. Quickly. And call Henley and the guys and tell them to come outside to the car," he said.

Silence as Dylan apparently spoke back

"We're fine but you need to hurry." Isla found that it was sweet that Dylan cared. Her mind was wandering. "It's important."

A moment later Atlas hung up and Isla assumed help was on the way. By now she was feeling extremely lightheaded but she could at least think. It wasn't straight, somewhat curvy but enough to get her by, but at the same time she seemed constantly lost in thought.

Atlas stared at her for a moment, concerned. Then he removed the jacket he was wearing, balled it up, and pressed it against her stomach. She held it there, knowing blood needed to stop.

"No, cops?" she asked. She had to be sure. Dylan wasn't a cop, right?

Atlas shook his head. "No cops. You're safe, for now. But we need to get you some medical help."

Isla could barely comprehend what was going on. All she knew was that she was going to get help. "Good," she said, the word slipping. She was seeing spots.

Atlas seemed panicked."Hey, hey, hey," he said as she lost everything for a moment. She felt a hand on her face and heard Atlas speak, but it was distant, as if she were underwater.

She felt herself move and more pain, more words. "Stay awake, okay? Stay awake."

Isla nodded. Words, pain, blood. "So. Much. Blood," she said, her words coming out spaced and her breathing shaking a bit.

"Stay with me," he said. Where was she going? She didn't remember wanting to leave. She just felt tired, and her stomach hurt really bad. Why did it hurt? She just wanted to sleep.

More words. She could hear them. "What's your name?"

Her name. What was her name? She knew her name. "Isla," she said. And then darkness.


	3. Detour

"Isla," said the girl, and then she slowly slumped to the side.

"No, no, no, no, no!" Daniel cried, catching her and sitting her back up. "C'mon, stay with me! Um, why are you here?"

No response. She was gone. Daniel checked for a pulse in a panicked motion and was pleased to find one. She was still alive, but not for long if he didn't get her help. Why did he call Dylan again?

Speak of the devil, Dylan's car pulled up and he burst from the front seat like he'd been pushed. He rushed over to Daniel, and upon seeing Isla he wordlessly and carefully placed one arm under her arms and another under her knees and lifted.

Daniel followed closely behind Dylan as he carried the small girl to his car. "Move!" he nearly shouted. Merritt, who was by the door, got out and moved to the shotgun seat, and Henley and Jack did their best to scoot over, but it wasn't a very big car.

"What's happening?" Jack said as Daniel pulled open the back door and climbed inside. Dylan placed Isla across their laps, so that Daniel was supporting her head. "Who is that?"

Quickly, Dylan made his way to the front door and started up the car. "Okay Atlas I want answers. What's going on?"

"Look, I, I went out to get some air, the club was too much and then I heard noises, breathing, heavy breathing and I went to go check and I found Isla here and called you," Daniel said without so much as a breath.

"How do you know her name?" Dylan demanded.

"I had to keep her talking, I was trying to keep her conscious!" Daniel said.

"Well, that worked," Henley said sarcastically.

Dylan seemed angry, but it was mostly stress that was causing the tension. "Why didn't you call a hospital?"

"She said not too."

"And you listened?" Dylan sighed. "Well, at least it kept you away from the authorities. I thought I said to stay in the club!"

"If I had she'd be dead so I think I made a good decision," Daniel said.

Dylan sighed again. "Fine. I know someone who can help," he said, pulling out his cell phone. "Lissie," he said into the phone. "Stop by the apartment and bring your medical kit. It's an emergency."

"Who'd Lissie?" Jack asked.

"A friend," Dylan said simply, and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

The odd women with the caramel colored hair tucked into a clip and the big, ice blue eyes was indeed Miss. Felicity Tunison. Felicity had a bright, friendly face, but as Daniel, Dylan, and Jack entered carrying Isla, followed by the other two, she looked worried.

Henley was startled by Felicity's presence, as it had been a long time since she'd walked into a house to see a new face. She gasped and gripped the door frame, Merritt flinching and ready to grab her. Henley let out a sigh of relief and scoffed at herself, smiling slightly.

"Put her on the couch," Daniel said. The three of them moved sideways, carefully laying the unconscious girl on the couch. Felicity rushed over and quickly inspected the wound, opening up a black briefcase on the ground and removing several items.

A few moments later she looked up. "She'll live. This was a careful wound, aimed to miss her vital organs, and not deep at all. It'll heal fast, and she should be mobile soon," Felicity said. "She would have died from blood loss, however, had Daniel not found her."

"Thank god," Daniel breathed.

Felicity stood up, moving the briefcase carefully to the side table. "You don't have to wait around," she said removing a bandage and a bottle of liquid from her case. "She's going to need quiet."

"Let's go to our rooms and change," Henley suggested, leading Daniel and Jack away with a hand on a shoulder each. She looked back and Dylan and Merritt, who followed almost reluctantly.

"This _is _my room," Jack muttered as they all filed into Daniel and Merritt's room. Henley closed the door behind them and focused in on Daniel and Dylan.

"Answers. Now," she said.

Dylan shurgged. "What do you need to know from me?"

"Who exactly is that?" Henley asked pointing behind her.

Dylan sighed and looked at everyone else in the room. Four pairs of questioning eyes looked back at him. "She's an old friend of mine. I figured at some point while you were in hiding one of you was going to hurt yourselves or get sick, so I wanted to have someone medical on hand. Felicity was perfect."

"Perfect," Henley muttered. "Handy. How long have you known her?" Henley raised an eyebrow.

"Since I was a little kid," Dylan said impatiently. "Is that all?"

Henley hesitated. "For now," she said, turning to Daniel. "Danny, do you swear you told us everything?"

Daniel nodded. "Yes Henley, I said every little detail relevant. Is it really necessary to, to berate me like this?"

If anyone else had answered like that, Henley would have immediately found them guilty, but this was Daniel. He always spoke like that. However he wasn't as calm as he usually was. Like he had a lack of control.

"Why didn't you call an ambulance?" Henley asked.

Daniel didn't speak for a moment. "Well, she said not to."

Henley scoffed. "And you listened?"

Another hesitation. "I didn't want to do something someone didn't want me to do," he said. "If I said that to someone I would hope-"

"He's lying," Merritt nearly shouted.

"Dan-ny," Henley said, holding out the last syllable.

Daniel sighed. "I could tell she was running away from something," Henley threw her hands in the air in frustration and Dylan put his head his hands. "Just like us! I wasn't going to let her be found, what, what if _that_ killed her?" he continued slightly louder.

"So you choose now to have a heart?" Merritt said cooly. "Smooth Atlas."

"Hey!" Daniel said.

"Daniel that wasn't the smartest idea you've ever had," Dylan said. "You could have put us all in danger. She could be a government spy or something for all we know."

"Can't you like, ID her or something?" Daniel asked.

"If you get her last name or something, but she's unconscious," Dylan said. "I could fingerprint her."

Suddenly Dylan's phone went off. He swore under his breath and answered it, everyone staying deathly silent. "What? Now? Does it have to be… do you know… ok, ok, fine," he said, and then he hung up.

"That was Fuller," he said. "I need to go. Until I get back, find out everything you can about this girl, okay?"

The four nodded. Dylan had to keep up his cover at the FBI, so they could continue to fly under the radar as easily. As Dylan quietly slipped out of the room, the tension in the room was tangible, with everyone sneaking looks at Daniel.

"Dude, we're not going to jail, right?" Jack asked quietly.

"No, Jack, Dylan trusts Felicity, so I do," Daniel said.

"That's not what I mean," Jack said. "There's a strange girl on the couch. How do we know that she'd not from the feds or something."

"We don't," Henley said.

"I'm sure she's an… _okay _person," Daniel said.

"Who's on the run from the authorities," Merritt said.

"I'm going to go talk to Felicity," Daniel said with a huff. "Why don't you all get ready and sleep or something."

"She's on my "room"," Jack muttered

Before anyone could get another word it, Daniel stormed out of the room, almost slamming the door but thinking of the injured girl on the couch. Felicity looked up as he entered.

"She's sleeping. I stitched and wrapped the wound and it should heal so long as you change the bandages often. I've left the a small kit here, and some painkillers," she whispered, dropping a small black bag on the side table. "I left my phone number on the counter, call me if you need anything."

"Cool, thanks," Daniel said, sneaking a look at Isla. Her coloring had returned to normal, and she was more peaceful than before.

Felicity cleared her throat. "I did, um, find something while treating her wound. A knife up her sleeve."

"She was on the run, that means nothing," Daniel said.

"Okay," Felicity said skeptically. "It's right here," she patted the side table.

"Oh," Daniel grabbed it and tucked it against his arm. "I'll hold onto that."

Felicity still looked skeptical, but she sighed and grabbed her briefcase. "I'll be back if you need anything. Keep in touch."

"Alright," Daniel said. "Bye."

"Good-bye," Felicity smiled, and she headed out the door.

Daniel retreated to his room, after Jack and Merritt had finished getting ready, and hid the knife in his sock drawer. No need to worry the others, was there?

When Isla opened her eyes, she saw a plain ceiling. An unfamiliar ceiling. And everything hurt, but mostly her stomach. Did she eat something bad?

She looked down. She was wearing familiar clothes, clothes from her last memory, except her white shirt was stained red. What happened?

She tried to sit up, but pain shot through her whole body and she gasped and laid back down. What was wrong with her? Where was she?

"You okay?" a voice said. Isla looked to the right and saw a boy with sandy blonde hair looking at her. She let out a scream and scooted back, forgetting how much it hurt to try and boost herself up. She let out a small cry of pain and the boy helped her sit up.

Isla kept her eyes focused on the strange boy, and the memories flooded back. The job. Blake. The knife. Atlas. Her knife… her knife. Where was her knife? She grabbed her wrist in panic but felt nothing. Her knife was gone.

"Hey, hey, hey, um, Isla," the boy- no this was Jack Wilder, one of her targets- said, a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. You're safe here, don't worry."

Isla wasn't panicking. She could make this work, she was in. But she had to act like nothing was okay. As far as they knew, she had been stabbed and left in an alley, and that was it. They had no idea why. However, Jack's use of her name did clear up one mystery: how much she had told Atlas.

"Who are you? How do you know my name?" she said, looking around. "Where am I? What happened?"

"Deep breaths," Jack said. "Everything is okay. My name is Jack Wilder, and you're in our apartment. Daniel found you yesterday. You told him your name. Someone hurt you."

"Jack Wilder," said Isla. "Aren't you," she paused. "Aren't you dead? You're the magician that died," she could not have asked for a better situation. "Which means, I'm dead!" she cried trying to stand up. For the third time pain shot through her and she breathed through clenched teeth. Jack seemed intent on keeping her comfortable, so he tried to help her sit up.

"No, I'm alive," Jack said. "You are too. The wound wasn't that bad."

"No I saw it on the news, you died in that car," Isla said.

Jack shook his head. "It was a magic trick."

"A magic trick?" Isla asked. "How-"

She was interrupted by a loud yawn from Henley as she walked out of her room. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Jack on the ground next to the couch. "I thought you were sleeping in Merritt and Danny's room?"

"Merritt snores. Really loud," Jack explained. "I don't know how Daniel sleeps in there."

Isla was genuinely confused for a moment. "Why didn't you just sleep in your room?"

"This is my room," Jack said.

It took Isla a minute to realize what he meant. So that was why he was sleeping on the floor. "Oh my god, I'm sorry!"

"Don't be, we had to put you somewhere," Jack said.

The was a moment of silence before Henley spoke up. "I'm gonna make some coffee. Do you want some Isla?"

Isla poked her head up over the back of the couch to see the familiar redhead from the file. She had a sleeping mask on her forehead and was wearing a fluffy blue robe over a huge black t-shirt. "Yes please," she said. Coffee sounded nice.

"Okay," Henley yawned again, opening a cabinet.

Isla turned to Jack. "So where am I?"

"Our apartment," Jack repeated.

Isla shook her head. "No, where is the apartment?" An address would be great, she could send it to Tressler

"Oh," Jack said, hesitant. "Um, I'm not sure if I can tell you…"

Henley put the coffee pot down on the counter with a loud thud and turned to the couch. "Jack. Go wake up Merritt and Danny."

Jack smiled lightly at Isla and then stood up, heading towards the second bedroom. Isla laid back down and looked at the ceiling. Despite her injury, this wasn't a bad arrangement. If she could get the location, she could call in the big guns. And if that didn't pay, she could go with one on an errand and then take them right to Tressler.

"So what happened?" Henley asked. Isla looked over the couch again, the only movement that didn't hurt.

"What?" she asked, trying to seem clueless and innocent. She knew she'd need a story.

"Last night," Henley said, grabbing two mugs from another cabinet. The coffee maker beeped, which told Henley and Isla that the coffee was ready.

"Oh," Isla said. "I'm not sure, I wasn't conscious for most of it." Stall until you can think of something, she thought.

Henley poured the coffee into each cup and put the pot back on the coffee maker, casting a slightly disapproving look at Isla. "Before that. Who stabbed you, did you see?"

"No," suddenly and idea struck Isla. "But I'd bet it was my ex-boyfriend. He's been refusing to bury the hatchet since I left him."

"Why? What happened?" Henley asked, sitting down on the coffee table and handing a mug to Isla.

"Thanks," Isla said, taking a sip. "He's an assassin. My ex. I broke up with him once I found out. He's not a bounty hunter or anything, so I called the cops," she chuckled softly for effect. "Not my best idea."

"So he's been after you? Why didn't you go to the cops? Or at least tell Danny to call an ambulance?" Henley asked.

"Uh," she'd twisted one truth, she could twist another. "My ex hacked into the census and sort of, deleted my existence. When someone shows up to the feds who doesn't exist, they don't really care about what you're saying."

Henley looked a little less cold and curious, as if she were satisfied with that answer. Isla breathed a little easier. It was true, she wasn't listed but that was routine for an assassin. What Henley didn't know what that Isla was the one who'd done it.

All of a sudden, Jack burst from the hall, slowing down from a run. He looked at the two girls, a wild smile on his face and a hand rubbing his shoulder.

"Daniel threw a pillow at me, and then Merritt threw like three shoes," Jack said. "One of them hit me in the shoulder. And I learned a ton of new swears."

Isla and Henley looked from Jack to each other and burst into laughter. Jack chuckled with them walking over to the floor by the couch and sitting down.

"Hey, how long until she's up and walking?" Jack asked, as if Isla were not there. However, Isla was curios to know this as well.

Henley shrugged. "Felicity only told Danny. I'll ask him when he stops throwing stuff."

"Who's Felicity?" Isla asked.

"She's the one who stitched you up," Henley said. "Oh maybe I should just call her, I think she left her number on the counter," she said, getting up and walking to the counter.

Jack and Isla watched Henley go and then turned to each other. "You're handling this surprisingly well," Jack said.

"What do you mean?" Isla asked.

"Waking up in a weird place, surrounded by famous magicians on the run from the law, including one who's supposed to be dead, with your stomach wrapped and stitched," Jack summarized.

Isla snorted and shrugged. "I've woken up in weirder places."

Jack laughed at that. "Well I'm glad you're feeling okay."

"Well I know I'm safe here," Isla said. "You guys have done nothing wrong."

"Thanks," Jack said, looking genuinely thankful. For a moment Isla regretted taking the job. These were good, friendly people.

But then dollar signs flew through her mind, along with Blake's threats. And she smiled at Jack, knowing exactly who she was going to turn in first.


	4. Welcome to the Other Side

**Because it was asked: Isla is named Isla because I liked the name for the character, not for Isla Fisher the actress who portrays Henley.**

* * *

The choice was simple really. Despite the fact that he had been the one to save my life, I felt like Atlas would be harder to get, seeing as his file listed him as a "control freak" among other things. Merritt was a mentalist, which would worry me more if I hadn't gone undercover countless times. However, I'd only lead a target to their capture a few times, so that was more sensitive. Henley, on the other hand, obviously didn't trust me within an inch of her life.

Jack appeared to wholeheartedly trust me, and he was more of a "go with the flow" kind of guy. So I'd simply wait for the opportunity, have Tressler station a truck, hold him at "knife point" (seeing as Blake took my gun) and then use Jack as bait for the other three. I might even be able to lead another one before breaking my cover.

Giving Tressler the address, should I get it, wasn't really an option. I knew Tressler's type, the second he had the address I'd be dropped. It was better and more satisfying to keep him in the dark, despite it being slightly harder.

"Felicity said as long as you don't get up today, you should be good by noon tomorrow," Henley said, walking back over to the couch.

There was something odd about these two, Isla thought. I didn't really feel the need to mess with them, like I did with Blake, Tressler, and so many others.

"That's good," I said with a weak smile. "I hate not being active. Plus I go stir crazy so easy it's funny."

Henley laughed and Jack scoffed. "Please. You don't know stir crazy until you've been holed up in the same apartment for six months," Jack said.

"You've been here that long?" I asked.

They nodded. "Since the last show," Henley said.

"Why did you guys do that again?" I asked. I myself did not know, but Tressler and Bradley seemed to. "Like risk getting arrested just to do some shows?"

"It's exactly what we said," Henley explained. "We were righting some wrongs."

"Oh," I knew that wasn't it, but I didn't push. "How long are you guys holed up here for?"

They both shrugged. "Uh, not sure," Jack said. "Dylan's-" Henley swatted him in the chest and he looked at her. "What?"

"Who's Dylan," I asked. I knew exactly who Dylan was, it was in the file. I knew that he didn't know Bradley was out of jail, and I knew Bradley and Tressler were just waiting for the right moment to blow his cover.

"He's-" Jack began.

"No one," Henley finish, shooting a scowl at her younger comrade.

"C'mon Henley she can know," Jack said. "Who's she going to tell?"

"The FBI, maybe?" Henley hissed. She appeared to have forgotten I was there.

"In case you didn't remember, I can't go to the FBI," I put in, remembering my cover story. "I'll get arrested if I do."

Jack looked like someone had just told him magic was illegal. "Wait, what?

"Oh yeah, 'cause of that thing your boyfriend did," Henley clicked her tongue. "I didn't think of that."

"Boyfriend?" Jack asked.

"Ex," I clarified. "And yes. So I can't rat you guys out, not that I'd want to. I think what you did was awesome," I had to ham it up. "Now who's Dylan?"

Henley turned to Jack. "Go wake up Merritt and Danny. It's almost noon."

"I already tried that, remember?" Jack said, pointing to his shoulder. "You go do it. I want to hear this story about why Isla can't go to the FBI because of her _boyfriend_."

"_Ex._"

Henley sighed deeply. "Fine. I'll do it," she said, standing up. As soon as she had turned the corner, Jack turned to me.

"Okay, you have to tell me everything, and then I'll tell you who Dylan is," he said with a goofy smile. "Go."

So I relayed the lie I'd told Henley, making sure to keep every detail the same. Twisting a truth is easier than making up a lie, because it's easier to remember. Blake and I never dated, but we used to be partners in the hit man business. Then I found out that he was betraying our clients and working for some big boss man. He was turning in clients, torturing subjects _and _clients unnecessarily, and he even tried to kill a bunch of innocents.

That was the first time I saved a life. I left him after that, and he's resented me ever since, sabotaging my jobs, stealing and even killing my clients, and occasionally trying to kill me.

"That's insane man," Jack said, real, genuine worry on his face. "Is it scary?"

"What do you mean?"

Jack hesitated. "I mean, we're on the run from the _law_. You're on the run from your psycho ex-boyfriend who's a crazy assassin trying to kill you. And he's good enough to wipe you from the system."

I nodded dully, without even realizing it. "Yeah. It's heavy stuff."

"Yeah," Jack nodded. We were silent for a moment. "It's weird, isn't it?"

"What's weird?" I asked.

"Not existing," the wild light in Jack's eyes was gone, replaced by a sort of maturity he shouldn't have. "Like technically I'm dead."

I hadn't thought about it before, but it was kind of weird. As far as the _government_, not just my childhood friends and neighbors, knew, I didn't exist. Technically, I'm a dead man too, as I had put myself as dead two years ago, but it was really just a wipe.

"Yeah," I said. "Really weird. Although mine wasn't voluntary."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. "That must be really weird."

"It is, it really is," I said. Silence. Then Jack spoke up.

"So where-" he tried.

"Jack!" Henley shouted from down the hall. "Jack come here! We need to talk to you!"

"Okay!" Jack hollered. "I'll be right back," he said to me.

"Wait!" I cried, grabbing his wrist as he stood. The movement was a little painful, but no more than a common ache. "You have to tell me about Dylan."

"Oh right," Jack said. He sat back down, but as soon as he had sat bad down Henley screamed for him again.

Jack cringed. "Sorry, this sounds important. I'll tell you later."

I sighed, acting disappointed. "Fine."

Jack gave me a smile as he stood up and walked down the hall. I had no idea what they were saying, but I had a pretty good idea as to what it was about.

* * *

"What were you doing?" Henley asked.

"I told Isla I'd tell her about Dylan after she told me how she ended up in the alley," Jack explained, a little annoyed. "She seemed really curious."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa why are we telling her about Dylan?" Merritt asked.

Jack shrugged. "She wanted to know."

Merritt snorted. "She wanted to know. I'll bet she wants to know exactly how everything works around here so she can tell the feds."

"No," Henley pursed her lips and shook her head. "She can't go to the feds."

"What do you mean 'she can't go to the feds'?" Daniel asked. Henley filled him in on Isla's story, his expression getting more and more shocked as she went on.

"Wait, wait, wait, her identity was deleted?" Daniel asked. "Seriously? We know this is true for a fact?"

Everyone thought for a minute. "We can have Dylan fingerprint her. And I'll get her last name," Henley said. "I'm sure it's fine."

"How long are we going to keep her?" Merritt asked. Everyone stared at him as if he'd asked when they were having their next show. "What? Someone had to say it."

"That's a bit insensitive," Jack said.

Merritt shrugged. "We probably should talk about it."

"We'll have Dylan check her out, and then we'll see what to do," Daniel said. "I mean, as long as she's an okay citizen, there's no reason why we should throw her out onto the streets with a crazy assassin after her."

"I still don't see why she can't go to the feds," Merritt grumbled.

Henley shrugged. "I guess she's on watch now or something."

"I'm gonna go tell her about Dylan now," Jack said slowly, starting to slip away.

"Why?" Henley asked.

Jack shrugged. "I said I would," he said, slipping out the door.

* * *

I'm not exactly sure why, but I didn't want Jack to walk away. I really wanted to hear that story, I guess. Something they were telling me I didn't already know.

So when he came back I felt so much better. I'm not sure why, but I suddenly felt extremely relieved. I felt this anxiety melt away.

"Okay," Jack said, sitting down. "So Dylan is an FBI agent, but before that his father was a famous magician." Jack proceeded to explain Dylan's story. How his father died, how he came up with that elaborate revenge plan, how he was working undercover to drop their charges.

"Wow," I said. "That's insane."

"Yeah," Jack said.

Awkward silence for a moment. "So where are you from?" Jack asked.

I laughed. The question was so funny, so awkward, so out of place. It seemed like Jack had been grasping for things to say and stumbled upon an old backup plan.

"Massachusetts originally," I said. I shrugged. "And Pennsylvania. Briefly Canada," I snorted. "Um, around California for a while and now New York."

"Dang!" Jack laughed. "Why'd you move so much?"

I shrugged again. I figured I'd keep to the truth here, just to make my life easier. "My dad liked to move around. He was always chasing some insane dream and relocating us," I launched into an example. "When I was almost sixteen and we lived in Pennsylvania, I had been saving up money so I could go to New York to see a Broadway show. Three days before we were supposed to go, my dad got a refund on the tickets and spent the money on a theme restaurant in Canada. We moved the next day."

"Wow," Jack said. "That's harsh."

"Yeah," I said. The silence resumed.

"What was the theme?" Jack asked.

I scoffed. "I don't even remember. The old West I think, which was stupid because it was _Canada_," Jack and I laughed. I hadn't thought about my family in forever. I hadn't seen them since I turned eighteen and moved to New York.

"That's so stupid!" Jack said. "A Wild West restaurant in _Canada_?"

"I know!" I exclaimed. "I didn't get to see a Broadway show because he wanted to own an American heritage restaurant in _Canada_."

"I wouldn't say that the old West is completely American heritage," Jack said. "Maybe it's _almost_ history."

Laughter was now filling the pauses between our words. "Red cowboy boots and cow print everything is American history?" I asked. "I had to wear a bedazzled cowboy hat and talk with a cliche accent."

"You had to be a waitress?" Jack asked.

"Psh," I said. "No! I had to be the hostess. I wasn't "perky enough to be a waitress"," I said with air quotes.

Jack doubled over in laughter. "Perky? Isla," he paused. "What's your last name?"

"Ja-" I stopped. "Reece," Reece was my go to last name, because while Isla Janowski didn't exist, Raymond and Jenny Janowski still did. Janowski was also an uncommon and memorable last name, but Isla Reece was forgettable. I usually went by Sara, but I'd accidentally told Atlas my name.

Speak of the devil. "Hey!" he said walking in. "How're you feeling? Did Jack and Henley explain everything? Sorry I slept so late, I would have explained everything-"

"It's no problem," I cut in. "I'm caught up. Which is something you may need to do with your beauty sleep," I said, cringing.

Henley and Merritt, who had been walking in behind Atlas, began chuckling and Jack hugged his sides and pursed his lips, the laughter only in his eyes.

"Well, I, I, I, I probably should stop trying," Atlas said, throwing his hands in the air and walking into the kitchen.

We laughed. It was so weird, I didn't feel like I needed to keep my guard up with them. It was like for the first time in my life, I didn't have to look out for myself.

"Isla," Henley asked. "Do you want a sandwich? It's nearly one."

"Um, yes please," I said.

"What kind?"

"Whatever you got," I said, peeking over the couch. "Anything works."

"So," Jack said. "Miss Isla Reece. You weren't "perky"?"

"What now?" Merritt asked.

I chuckled, and filling him in on the Canada Adventure story. "No, Mr Jack Wilder, I was not a perky individual in my youth. I was sullen, hostile, and bitter."

"Well, nothing's changed it seems," Atlas called from the kitchen, dripping with sarcasm.

"It was one comment!" I called back. "Thank you for saving my life and all that stuff by the way."

"Oh, your welcome," Atlas said.

"Back to the Canada story," Merritt said. "Was this outfit a miniskirt and crop top deal or what?"

"Merritt!" Henley said, swatting his arm.

"No it's fine," I said calmly. "Actually, he was my father you bumbling idiot of course it wasn't a miniskirt! I wore jeans and bright red cowboy boots, and a t-shirt with the cow-pattern vest," I said. "And the hat."

Henley and Jack found this hilarious, and even Merritt chuckled softly. "I apologize."

"Hey, Merritt," Henley said, in that smiley way you say things when you have a slightly devious idea. "Why don't you do that mentalism thing on Isla."

"Wait, what?" I said. I've lied to lie detectors before, I've resisted hypnotism, I convinced my parents that I was dead wearing only a fake nose, glasses, and a blonde wig as a disguise. Lying to mentalism seemed like nothing.

"Maybe later," Merritt said. "I need some food. Plus it's easier when she can look me in the eye. You know when she's not bedridden."

"Tomorrow then," Henley said.

And as Felicity had promised, I was up and walking the next day. By then I'd mostly won over the other three, although I still felt like Henley didn't trust me. Despite this, she invited me to come with her to return some stuff the next day.


End file.
